


Rainfall

by PaP



Series: Echoes/Reflections [4]
Category: Sonic X, Sonic the Hedgehog (Archie Comic), Sonic the Hedgehog (IDW Comics), Sonic the Hedgehog (Video Games), Sonic the Hedgehog - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, But not the undead kind, Delusions, Depression, F/F, F/M, Identity, Imagination, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Metafiction, Multiple Selves, Older Characters, Parallel Universes, Self-Destruction, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:06:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22163785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaP/pseuds/PaP
Summary: Losing her wasn't the hardest part.
Relationships: Amy Rose/Sonic the Hedgehog, Amy Rose/Whisper the Wolf, Blaze the Cat/Silver the Hedgehog, Rouge the Bat/Shadow the Hedgehog, Rouge the Bat/Topaz (Sonic X), Tangle the Lemur/Whisper the Wolf
Series: Echoes/Reflections [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1536901
Comments: 27
Kudos: 31





	1. An ending

"There's not much space to go around, I'm afraid, so you two might have to, um…"

"Get creative?"

"You could call it that. Sorry, girls." Amy gives Tangle an exhausted smile whilst inclining her head in sympathy for Whisper. "I know it's not ideal, but, well."

"Don't sweat it!"

"We'll be fine."

"Just look at you! You've managed to keep yourself together, through it all, on top of managing everything else! And that's super inspiring!"

"Leading by example."

"Damn right! We're hardly gonna complain!"

"That's very kind. I guess, with all the people I've had falling asleep against my shoulders, I've never felt more like a big sister, before."

"Aw." The lemur leans over to playfully elbow the hedgehog. "You really are everybody's tough, lovable sis, aren't ya."

"I do try."

"And we appreciate it!"

"Mmhm." The wolf offers a kindly nod against the Wisp that has perched on her shoulder, their cheeks thus brushing in a mutual nuzzle. "We look up to you. Really, we do."

"But that's no reason to get yourself tied up in knots of worry over us. Whisper and I are tough enough. Gotta spare a thought for yourself, too, y'know?"

"You're tired. Stressed. More than most."

"You don't have to fret so much. I know it's part of your nature, but we want you to come out of this war without grey quills."

"Oh, you guys." Amy clearly feels guilty, regardless, and adds with a sincere, pretty frown, "I wish I could spare more room, especially after all your hard work, but–"

"Hey, seriously, don't sweat it, tiger! Like we said! We're totally fine. Heh. Fine as can be, anyway."

"More important things to think about."

"But do the thinking without the fretting part."

"I know, I know." A sigh. "You'll be alright?"

"Yes."

"Actually…"

Two woman turn to the third.

"We're all in this, together, so I don't wanna be too selfish, see?" Tangle chuckles casually whilst running a dusty hand through her already tussled fur, then adds in a calmer, shyer manner, "Sure, it's probably kinda selfish to admit, but there's honestly nobody I'd rather snuggle up with to survive a disaster than Whisper, so… in a way…"

"You're feeling better than alright with this."

"Yup."

The wolf, blushing very noticeably, doesn't cringe or shrink away from the flickering, meagre light that exposes her, her smile turning treacherously, suggestively crooked.

"I see." The hedgehog raises a brow of intrigue, smirking. "If I had any scented candles to help set the mood…"

"No need! Whisper smells like the forest. It's great."

"Tangle, please."

"Although…" After a dramatic moment of silence, the lemur adds jokingly, "Come to think of it, if I had a choice of cuddle companion, I reckon I'd consider picking Rouge, since she looks like she'd be good for a snuggle," then feigns a wince as a fist gently collides with her shoulder, causing no pain at all. "Easy, girl, I need this arm! Save the raw, bestial strength for Eggman, would ya?"

"You're the worst."

"And you love it."

"Grrmph."

"Wow." Amy appraises her friends with a fond wink. "You two really have grown close. Starting to get a little intense!"

"She saved me," is all Whisper says in explanation, but it's the confidence in her quiet voice, even more so than the intimate wording, that makes Tangle visibly struggle not to collapse on quivering knees.

"Oooh!" The lemur cups her glowing cheeks and sways. "You're too sweet! Making me sound so heroic n'stuff!"

"S'true." The wolf distracts herself somewhat with petting the Wisp on her shoulder, murmuring, "You're my hero."

"Aah! Stop, I'm gonna melt!"

"In that case, let me not keep you two." The hedgehog turns with a flutter of her lashes, but adds soberly, "Sleep well, okay?"

"You, too." Whisper readies herself to lead, because Tangle has yet to recover from almost swooning, gently grasping the lemur's bony wrist and giving green eyes a firm, but patient expression. "No more all-nighters, Amy, 'cept when you have to. Rest."

"I'll try, sweetie. Goodnight."

"G'night," is the wolf's mild reply, turning away.

Amy wishes she could spare more thought to romantic fantasy as Whisper leads Tangle out the sparse little room by the wrist, but Eggman won't allow such games. The hedgehog sighs over the wolf's heavy boots, despite such stealthy steps, as this fatigue extends to all.

The lemur's heartfelt, silly giggle echoes and it's enough to provoke a couple of smiles, at least.

Sometimes one must be grateful for these little things.

* * *

"Okay, this is somehow more crowded than I thought it'd be."

"Yes," Whisper says in her dulcet undertone.

"You still okay?"

"I'm fine. Just… S'making me tense."

"I feel it, too. Radiating off of you."

"Don't mind me."

"Can't help it. You're too important."

"Mmph."

Tangle draws closer, because her closeness is the comforting sort, not stifling anymore, providing reassurance in this space of crammed bodies. "Do you wanna, um, try outside? We could camp under the stars, like, what little of them we'll see through the smog."

"Too risky." The wolf's ears press back with mild-mannered, antisocial distaste. "I'll manage here."

"That's my tough guy. How about those boxes, then? We could curl up on top of 'em, avoid all these feet and butts."

"Sounds like a plan."

"My plans are usually bad, but hopefully, not this time," Tangle says in her hushed voice, so as not to wake anyone, taking strength from the reassuring squeeze on her wrist before physical contact between them is broken. She takes the first step into the chaos of murmured conversations, snores and sighs, nimbly navigating her way around spayed fingers and tattered clothes, toward the crates stacked against the farthest wall, intended to take up less space.

Whisper follows, imagining each person a potential source of scorn should her reinforced soles unfortunately tread on their tails.

Soon, Tangle nimbly mounts onto a wooden crate, like an island amidst a sea of bodies. "I hope nobody urgently needs whatever's in these."

The wolf arrives shortly thereafter, easing herself into a meditative position whilst setting her Wispon aside, in easy reach of herself but not any of the sleeping civilians below, Wisps flooding to bury themselves in her arms, as well as Tangle's.

"Aw, little guys." The lemur takes advantage of the stack, leaning back against it cautiously, testing the stability, glad when none of the heavy crates tumble over. "You wanna make the most of a snuggly predicament, don't you?"

The Wisps certainly don't complain when she cradles then beneath her chin.

"You're so warm."

Whisper smiles at Tangle, then kisses her share of Wisps upon their heads.

"Goodnight, little ones. Sweet dreams, 'kay?"

"Stay close to us."

The Wisps settle quickly.

"Are you comfy enough, over there?"

"Yes. You?"

"Yep."

"Then…" The wolf rests her head against the cool wall, soothed by it. "G'night."

"Goodnight, buddy." The lemur's eyes are already shut, her tail curling itself instinctively about those closest to her.

"D'you mind if…?"

She manages a drowsy little chuckle. "Go ahead."

Whisper takes hold of the soft, fluffy appendage, drawing it toward herself like a pillow, a blanket, and a lifeline all in one.

Tangle doesn't verbally say how much she treasures being so much, to someone. But the inward bliss that overcomes her says it all and she easily falls asleep.

The wolf and the lemur don't notice the envy of some of the others, who do not rest, who have lost so much.

* * *

"Wanted to tear myself apart, rather than live without you."

"But you pulled through."

"For a chance to see you again, I had to. Had to see further than the way I felt. Told myself s'what you would've wanted. Told myself over, and over, and…"

Tangle doesn't mind the intensity of Whisper's embrace, a grip that could rival Amy's, it turns out.

"I dunno what to do with you."

"What do you mean?"

"You're back, but god, it was hell when you were gone. And now, you're here, again, and I feel so…"

"I'm sorry."

"Nothing to regret. S'what Sonic said."

"Did you think about punching him, after he said it?"

"N'worse."

"It wasn't his fault."

"Don't care. Lost you. Just got you back."

The lemur remains very still, allowing the wolf to slur these tearstained words into her cheek.

"Missed you. Cried so much. Couldn't think straight. You were gone but you where everywhere. Torment. Torment! My family, all over, again!"

Tangle has cried plenty, herself, and she's trying not to cry anymore, trying to at least appear strong as Whisper, despite the muscular advantage, is collapsed in her weakness, all too willing to weep anew.

"I wanna take you and… put you inside myself. Keep you, in here, with me. Somehow. S'unhealthy."

The lemur, overwhelmed, wants to speak, but she cannot fathom what she should say, what words would help.

"What should I do with you? Tangle?"

She looks to the Wisps, but they stay back, affording this space.

"Please." The wolf pauses for another shudder. "Don't leave me, again."

Eventually, Tangle settles on saying, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be!"

"I'm sorry, anyway."

"Just tell me," Whisper snarls back, hoarse, clinging, "what to do."

"I don't know."

"Oh, Tangle."

"Whisper, I'm…"

"I love you so much."

"You're hurting."

"I wanted to say it, still."

"If you can bear to hear it, I love you, too."

"Hrmph."

"Is this helping? This hug?"

"I dunno. Maybe. I need it, though."

"Take it. Take it from me. All of it. I've got plenty to spare, you know me. I can keep giving and you can keep taking. It's alright."

"Not too tight? I can… let go, a little."

"Not at all. Maybe we'll merge together, in the end."

"God! I want to!"

"'Til then, we can keep this going. This hug. Let's hug, as long as you like, as long as you need."

"Okay."

"It doesn't solve everything, but–"

"Doesn't have to!" Tears. Like a forest after some downpour. "Just hold me."


	2. I've been hurting, lately

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's more, apparently.

Whisper sits up slowly, in stiff, unwilling inches, eyes strangely open, bright and cutting and cold.

Amy is here, already, having taken it upon herself as big sister figure to personally visit her charges when she can, this one in particular being a special case requiring special attention, but not the only one in need, despite being perhaps the least receptive to being helped. "Hi, sweetie."

"H'lo."

"Sleep well?"

"Mmph."

"I slept fine, myself."

"S'good."

Spread thin, the women can't manage much enthusiasm in this greeting, nor the pleasantries following it.

The hedgehog is perched on the corner of whatever it is that serves as a bed, in these hard times. And she's wearing that kind, worried expression, again. Unsure of what to say, even though she'd come here with a script in mind, having given it some thought.

"How long?" is the quiet question, spoken in brief. "How long have you been here, watching me dream, knowing my dream is happy, because you were too kind to wake me, and too cruel to spare me a broken neck?" would be the whole thing, if the wolf were the talkative, openly pathetic kind.

"Oh, I dunno, a couple of minutes?" More like just shy of an hour. Sitting and staring and thinking and feeling.

Whisper nods.

Amy's worry deepens.

The wolf swallows the urge to be bitter because she won't allow this all-consuming heartache to squeeze out what little good of her is left, inside. She can't. She has to preserve herself for the woman she aches for. But it's still so hard, to remain calm and composed when defeated, swinging one leg over the edge, followed by another, until she sits beside the hedgehog.

In the pause, they contemplate everything and nothing and then the pause ends.

"Can I?"

"Okay."

Amy loops an arm around Whisper's shoulders and leans in, so their heads rest together.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, sweetheart. Thank you, too."

"S'fine."

Silence, for a while.

"Gimme a task," is the softly spoken shattering of this pause. "Almost anything."

Keeping busy is the safest thing to do, the hedgehog supposes, even if it isn't therapy, and even if keeping busy isn't always as easy as wallowing and self-destruction and suicide. "Thought you might like to help me with organising our rations and such." She turns a little to kiss the wolf's cheek, brief and soft. "While things are still quiet. Before that mad rush. Y'know."

"Yes."

"You've seen how grabby and demanding people can be."

"Yes."

"Not much fun, but it'd be very helpful."

"I'll do it."

"Thanks. Seems I've got my hands full with so little."

"I can go out, later. Gather supplies."

"That'd be great, too. I'm sure Espio could do with a distraction, and he's a quiet enough guy, so you two-"

"I can go alone."

"Yes, but you could get into trouble, sweetheart."

"Would prefer to go alone."

"You'll make me worry."

"Sorry. Don't wanna be responsible for anyone. Not again."

An attempt at a smile. "Well, let's just think on it a little more, okay?"

"Okay."

"For now, though, I want you to trust me when I tell you, you've been so helpful."

"You already told me."

"And I'm repeating myself. Really, you've helped so much. You just don't see it like I do."

"Okay."

"Thank you, sweetie. Again, for everything. Most of all, for being so brave."

"Okay."

"I look up to you."

"Amy."

"Whisper?"

"Please, don't."

That attempt suddenly ends. "Do you wanna talk?"

"No."

The women are left to linger, silently, for a while, in a bubble of tension and pain.

"How can I help?"

"You can't."

"Sweetie, I refuse to accept that."

"S'true."

"I told you. I refuse to believe it."

"Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Just, please, open up a little, so I can reach in."

"No."

Another kiss, a little firmer on that cheek, and it doesn't end as quickly as the last, as if to convince them both that there's more, or less, or maybe it's making no effort to convince anyone of anything at all.

A sigh, catching halfway in a tightening throat.

Then, "I love you," comes out all strange.

These words are enough to make blue eyes rise from the floor, briefly meeting with green, then darting ahead.

"If you feel like maybe you'd like to talk, later, then talk to me. Or anyone. Please."

"Okay."

"And if you want somebody to hold you, or just your hand, or even if you just wanna be physically close to someone else, then that's okay, too, that's not weakness."

"Okay."

"Look at me."

"Why?"

"Because I love you."

"I'm sorry."

"Whisper."

"Amy. It hurts."

Green eyes still seek an audience with narrowed blue, which still stare ahead at a stain on the wall and, beyond that, nothing.

"I'm not alone. But I feel alone. Amy, I love you back."

"I know."

"But it's not the same."

"I know."

"Loved her, too."

"Yes."

"Loved her so much."

"And your love is precious. You're good to love others, even if that love isn't equal."

"Love won't bring her back. Doesn't matter how much. Can't wish her here. Can't turn a wish into a cure."

"Whisper, I…" But Amy doesn't know what else to say, so she says nothing.

"Love makes it hurt. I loved her when I told myself, no, I shouldn't. But she was comfort, she was drink, she was food. She was herself. Tangle."

Tears well up, again. Wanting to burst, again, no matter how thick the walls of the dam.

"When I was resolved to being alone, thirsty and starving, Tangle loved me." Whisper stops for a growl, some predatory, primeval sound, then whimpers. Blue eyes grow unsteady just then, for a moment. "Why did I let her in? She's gone. I'm not. If I hadn't loved her like I did, she'd have left me more than just this. More than alive. With something worthwhile living for."

The hedgehog imagines her own love, the fate that he flees from as much as fights against, in thoughtlessly pressing her mouth to the corner of the wolf's, pressing until they could both bruise.

"And I love you, too, and I could lose you, too. But after Tangle, I can't love and lose, again, not as much as she made me."

That kiss merely hardens, drags itself, pushes further.

"When you found me, Amy, I was in a dream." The words are muffled as that mouth traverses further along another. "When you found me. Amy. I was dreaming of her and it felt so real but it's not real. We wake up when our dreams die."

"Whisper."

"Sorry."

"Whisper!" the hedgehog speaks into a gap, into the other's pained gasp, and tightens her arm, drawing their upright bodies closer together, finding no resistance, as if there's no life and no willingness to live, the latter of which scares her the most.

"She was there." The wolf is barely articulate, barely cognisant. "With me. Inside, but I couldn't keep her, I woke up, she died."

Amy feels herself, though, shuddering into the kiss as those words are forced out in breathy intervals, distorted by motions approximating sensuality, drawing Whisper's cold gaze, finally, acknowledgement dawning in some distant sort of way.

"Sorry."

The hedgehog kisses the wolf more fiercely. There's not an ounce of romance in it, not even when Whisper's lips unthinkingly give way for Amy's numb tongue, claws dragging through quills and blunt fingers seeking ribs, the world tipping sideways. This passion is something akin to the desperation small, furry animals might feel when huddled in a pile of fear for their tender lives, trapped together, tiny hearts racing in their crumbling burrow with the frothing hounds outside, digging in, and the men wielding pitchforks that rise above, stabbing down.

* * *

Amy aches without Sonic's touch. She aches with what little of it she can coax out of him, what little he can give. And it's all gone, now. It's indecent, pure. Her womanhood, her soul, it all hurts and thrums for him. She aches.

He used to give her hugs, sometimes, and he'd let her hold his hand or punch him fondly on the arm or blow soft kisses in his ear, nothing too far from being sisterly. He is unable to satisfy her in all the ways she needs. And when he could, he was unwilling, as if her blossoming, then final bloom, didn't do a thing for her attractiveness.

She doesn't blame him, having overgrown the urge to be angry. But she mourns something, and she's mourning a lot more, nowadays, as the infection digs itself deeper into his skin, reaching for bones, altering his organs, and she watches him change while he tries so hard not to, straining to stay the same.

He is her hero, always, though.

She can see him, whenever she looks his way, which is often, and she can still find his beauty, that she adores, tarnished as it is by polluting mercury that changes friends to recognisable monstrosities. Then there's the exhaustion in fighting the changes in himself, and the effort in hiding the guilt he feels. She also tries to listen, to what is said and what is suggested, and she can hear the waver in his voice whenever he speaks, the shortness of his breaths, the heaviness in his steps. She stays at his side as he faces the anguish of civilians missing families and endures the scorn of survivors with broken lives. She says she understands him, whenever he asks, even when he almost dozes off and doesn't quite make sense, she pretends.

He doesn't love her like that.

Amy hurts and it's lonely.

Whisper's grief isn't the same, but the way she grieves for Tangle does hurt just as much. It probably hurts worse.

* * *

"I didn't… I didn't mean to…"

"S'okay."

"No, it's not, this is unfair and-"

"I don't blame you."

Misery is intoxication and it can be held at fault for this lapse in judgement.

"Shit." Amy hurriedly gathers her clothes, trying to hide her nakedness, her eyes wild with horror.

Whisper is sprawled out, staring at the ceiling, feeling like a traitor with a noose, already.

"Shit, shit, shit!"

"S'my fault."

"No, no, I initiated…"

"You're young," the wolf tells the ceiling.

"I'm an adult," the hedgehog snaps back, not meaning to snap at all. "God, dammit, what was I thinking!"

"You weren't thinking."

"Shit!"

"Neither was I. Or we thought too hard and our thoughts got broken."

Amy groans, trying to get dressed, incapable of out-squirming the bodily twinges of pleasure and pain. She almost falls at one point and she catches herself, because she has to, because Whisper can't be trusted, right now.

"I'm so sorry."

"We… We need to pretend."

"Pretend?"

"This never happened."

"Should've stopped you. I'm sorry."

"We'll just move on."

"Should've said no, but…"

"We'll keep going. We have to."

"Why… didn't I?"

"We'll be fine."

"Sorry."

"Stop that, please!"

The wolf covers her face with her hands and says the lemur's name, like it's the answer or the solution or the thing that mends broken people in broken circumstances.

The hedgehog is momentarily distracted by the other woman's plea, wanting to reach out, then recalling her nakedness, reconsidering, but it isn't lust, instead it's the snag of pity and self-directed revulsion, the feeling of having taken advantage of another, undeserving.

Whisper is covered in scars and bruises and an inescapable sheen of sorrow, her beauty tainted in a way akin to Sonic's, as she hides from Tangle's memory.

Amy bites her lip, then a part of her tongue, still numb, jaw working.

The wolf's leg jerks away when the hedgehog sits close by.

"Sweetie, listen to me, okay?"

"Mmmph."

"You need to get up and get busy. We need you. We need your help. And I know you're hurting, I know you're tired, I know you've given everything and most of the people don't appreciate it because they don't know, but I need you and our friends do, too. So, please."

Whisper rolls over, baring her back, unaware of Amy's torn expression.

"And if I leave you, lying here, alone and used and… worse off, because of me." Green eyes squeeze shut as blue dart in the dim, between caged fingers. "I'll break my heart on the way out and it's already very broken, so, please."

"Sorry," is the murmured reply, unintelligible, a parody of an echo of a dream. "So sorry." Whisper still has her imagination, and the imagination is the cement that keeps bricks of social construction together, keeps people together, allowing brilliant and dull minds alike to build their towers and cities in the light of hope and meaning, despite the crushing reality that is birth and death and error in disasters, natural and manmade.

Amy rubs her forehead, sniffling, sisterly, nursing a headache that doesn't let her be.


	3. Regards

Wake up.

* * *

"No way."

"Take it."

"You're hungry, too!"

"I'm fine. Here, take it."

"But–"

"Don't argue. Save your strength."

Tangle's about to say more, anyway, eyes alight with emotion yet dark in colour, when her stomach speaks for her, garnering a downcast glare at the betrayal, mood darkening, too, a sinister and unusual thing.

"Please."

Another cry of a body malnourished.

Whisper inclines her head at the end of the rumble, eyebrows scrunched together at the rise of the whine.

"Shoot."

"You're hungrier than I am."

"I'm just being greedy! It's nothing. I can handle it."

"Nonsense. You use more energy, more quickly. You need to eat more."

"I'm fine."

"Tangle."

"Stupid, selfish stomach."

"Tangle, stop that, right now."

"Whisper! You know how I feel about this!"

"Yes, but still, you're hungry and I can help and you know how I feel about this, too. I want to help. Let me."

"We're all hungry."

"I can't help everyone."

"Don't worry about me."

"Can't help that, either." The wolf draws closer, leaning in to rest her forehead against the lemur's. "You're important."

"And they aren't? You're important, too!"

"I'm making a choice. S'mine to make."

"Look, just listen to me, okay? I'm not gonna sit here and scoff your share." Another bodily complaint prompts Tangle to shake her head stubbornly, trying not to show discomfort, grinding the dusty fluff of her head against Whisper's fraying fringe. "I won't do it, I won't eat your share and watch you get hungrier without it."

"Stop being difficult."

"Because you're important, too."

"I'll shove it down your throat."

"You deserve it, you deserve to eat, just as much as anybody."

"I want you to have it." The wolf says this so easily, so simply, like it's not costing her a thing to give.

"Are we really arguing over bread?"

"Yes."

"Shoot."

"Eat it."

"Sorry, pal." The lemur nuzzles at the larger woman's snout, breathing against lips, "I won't."

"Must I use force?"

"I know you wouldn't do that."

"Then I'll share it, again."

"Darling, c'mon."

"Keep a little for myself. A compromise, see?"

"Don't–"

Whisper promptly tears the dry bread unevenly in two, passing the larger part with their foreheads still pressed, noses grazing, shoving it gently against Tangle's chest.

"You…"

"Please, Tangle."

"You're using that tone."

"For me."

The lemur groans from the belly outward, then weakly, reluctantly, presents a hand between them, fingers uncurling, palm upward, wincing as her hand helplessly fills with bread

The wolf makes a reassuring sound though her nose, with a blast of warm air, like she's huffing her primordial message to a member of her pack.

"You needed that."

"No, I'm used to less." Whisper sits back, again, leaving Tangle to slump forward on her own, but not alone. "I'm built to survive."

"I know."

"Eat."

The lemur has no fight left for this. "Okay."

The wolf tries to encourage by taking a dainty bite out of what's left, chewing, swallowing, savagery in check.

"Thank you," Tangle murmurs with thickened words whilst salivating her gratitude and shame, amethyst eyes fluttering shut guiltily, closed off against temptation whilst nostrils flare at the scent of it, ears folding in disappointment, lips then drawing into a fine line, as if she ought to have stitched herself shut.

"Don't feel bad about it."

"Mmhm."

"You're my best friend, Tangle." Patience and tenderness paint a face so softly, like a sunset. "Without you, what's the use in bread, or water, or anything?"

Amethysts peel themselves open, wide, beholding the fading, lapsing brilliance with what almost looks the the fear of a religious experience.

"You're important."

And a choked start or end of a giggle, destined to never fully manifest either way, is wrenched from a tight chest too soon. It can be forgiven or being mistaken for a sob, even as that sudden smile remains honest and delirious and happy, bread forgotten about as one woman drags herself ahead in a crawl straight into the other's heat.

"Tangle?"

"Man! You're way too cute for your own good, pal."

Blue eyes emerge, too, in shards of concern, unbothered by the physical proximity. "Tangle, what–?"

A kiss to the cheek brings about silence.

Then, the wolf's world is set spinning, wonderfully, and she finds stability on the lemur's shoulder.

"Oh, Whisper. Whisper, darling, I… Whisper…"

"Hmmm." It's ecstasy, this vertigo, this anchor in another's presence.

As if in orgasm, Tangle ripples.

So does Whisper.

It's very strange.

"You're gonna tear reality into bits, someday."

"I am?"

"Yeah! With all your… kindness and… cuteness… and… God, I wanna kiss you all over."

"Don't cry, Tangle."

"I'm crying, Whisper? Dude! I didn't even notice, but of course, you did."

"'Course." A clawed thumb carefully wipes the evidence away in little strokes, their faces kept close. "I'm sorry."

"You're awesome. Don't apologise, not for anything."

"I'm not perfect."

"Me, neither. Doesn't stop you from filling me up."

"Making me whole."

"I do that?"

"When I get up in the morning, the first thing I do, is find you. Then, my day can begin."

* * *

Wake up. Reach for her, she isn't there.

* * *

The Wisps mourn in their own way, too, and their way is to provide the children with companionship, which was something Tangle liked to do when she wasn't too busy taking care of other adults. The orphans, especially, appreciate having something warm and soft to hold that isn't reserved to memory and inanimate objects.

Whisper herself isn't a mother and she isn't the mothering kind, beyond her affection for these sentient weapons, these organic tools, and as she moves on heavy boots with remarkable noise for such stealthy steps, the Wisps come back to her one after another and she greets them softly each time, gathering her little group into her arms and upon her shoulders and along the length of her back.

Their tiny embraces are like sunbeams kissing metal, igniting it in a beautiful sheen contrary to its dull ugliness, otherwise, giving warmth to something unyielding and cold, able to bend out of shape or dent after enough blows, forming shapes somewhat useless, eventually. Their heat doesn't melt it into an appropriate or at least better mould, won't reinforce whatever remains upon cooling down, cannot mend.

Amy wouldn't meet the wolf's gaze. The hedgehog normally adores meeting gazes, pondering the secrets within, a vigilant study of people, even when trying to empathise. A constant process of intimately acquainting and reacquainting herself with others. It's why she's normally so good at grasping the social intricacies, so good at being kind and reassuring, yet forceful and direct as her old temper remembers itself. But after a few hours of silent, mutual work, she sent Whisper away with unnecessary, brief thanks.

Another apology, then an apology for apologising too often, then silence.

The hedgehog didn't even glance up to see the wolf depart with her bushy, increasingly unkempt tail tucked away.

Whisper walks with her Wisps and she realises that she probably took Amy's innocence away. Counts it as a disloyalty to Tangle's memory, another notch on the heart's wall that the wolf has no intention of ever letting go, being accustomed to holding herself accountable, accounting for everything.

The hedgehog is ruined.

If the lemur were here, she'd make it all seem forgivable, somehow. But if Tangle were here, this would never have happened.

Whisper stops when, quite amusingly, she encounters a very literal wall.

Obscenities, poetry, names of paramours or missing people, bad omens, have all been scrawled upon it. Likely the work of a few angry, misplaced teens missing home, misdirecting their anger at Sonic and others in his crew who have notable names or obvious enough descriptors to be easily recognised in chalk and pen. Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly, perhaps, there isn't much mention of the true menace, Eggman.

Her long, strong fingers trace a place where blame lies in a crude caricature. "Me, too."

* * *

Wake up. Struggle to breathe, then win, but lose.

* * *

"Amy."

"Hi, Whisper."

"Wasn't expecting…"

"I've checked on everyone else."

It's been some days and the days all blur together, anyway, giving some illegitimacy to the freshness of wounds.

"No, s'just…" The wolf gestures vaguely at the hedgehog. "Didn't think…"

"We're fine, sweetie, aren't we?"

Whisper's eyes open very slightly, then squeeze shut, again. "Yes."

"Good." Amy braces her hands on her knees and pushes herself to stand.

"Going?"

"That's it."

"Oh."

"Unless you wanna talk or sit together in silence, touching or not. I'm flexible." The hedgehog is already moving past, toward the exit, the entrance, the division between outer space and this inner space that could be afforded, now, because, as an insensitive older civilian had put it before almost getting his skull cracked, the loss of bodies makes for more room and many people are gone.

"Amy," the wolf says, still in an undertone, "you're a good person."

"Heh, I keep telling myself that same thing when the tough choices are made."

"You make them because you're the only one tough enough, the one who can."

"Big sister."

"Yes."

"Thanks, Whisper." Green eyes swivel, tracing an erect ear alongside in a contemplative, upward gaze afforded in this hesitation before departure, tail tucked. "You, too."

"Have you seen it?"

Amy is stalled again. "Seen what?"

"Never mind." Whisper is without her Wisps, again, but she told them she's not so important that they should stay. "S'better that way." She moves to sit on the hard edge of the makeshift bed, stooped, slowly, in stiff, unwilling inches.

"Before…" The hedgehog remains, slender body battle ready, empty hands accustomed to a heavy hilt, shoulders bowed under a heavy burden. "I lied."

The wolf risks sounding stupid as she grunts a question.

"I came here because I'm lost."

"Inside?"

"My thoughts are broken and it feels fucked up, being by myself, right now. I want someone and the someone I want, I can't have. He has to run and I'm terrified of the day he won't be able to run, anymore." Amy sighs into her falling quills, head dipped. "I lied, like I was about to go. And I will, but I'm hoping you'll give me an excuse not to."

"After all I've taken from you–"

"You didn't mean it."

"I'd rather be alone," Whisper finishes as the hedgehog steps closer, then sits down, close beside.

"We're going extinct and we can't be so petty."

The wolf nods.

"Is that your only compromise?"

"Dunno how to be with people, without her."

"Tangle wanted you to make friends. To open up to us, so we could be here, for you."

"She saved me."

"She isn't dead, sweetheart."

"Yes. She's hurting, instead."

"We'll find a cure," Amy says, taking Whisper's larger hand in hers. "Have hope."

"S'hard."

"I know, sweetie. God. I know."

* * *

Wake up. "Fuck."

The ceiling.

"Fuck!"

The ceiling is like the face of some sort of abstract monster.

_Why am I awake?_

An abstract monster that sucks souls from people as they wake from pleasant memories that may only be dreams, masquerading, made to look like memories, invented in their place for sanity's sake and to keep things sacred.

Tangle is out there, shambling.

And the monster that is the ceiling is here and her image is, too, witnessing how stupid Whisper seems, sprawled out on her back, again, wet from sweat and something else, a forest drenched in dew.

The lemur taught the wolf to love herself, but those lessons are over, now.

"I'm awake."

Amy isn't here to teach, either. And when she's around, she's no substitute.

"I'm alive."

The hedgehog hasn't been here for a few days since. Her love doesn't make a difference, it isn't fit for purpose, it's not enough.

"S'fine."

She's leaving, too. Withdrawing. It's basically the same thing but it implies fault on the part of the one that pushed her away, or didn't, after she pulled, too hard.

Whisper sits up, slowly.


	4. Minuscule motions

“How’d you get this one?” A scar along a hip is probed. “If you’re okay with telling me.”

* * *

“When I was a scrawny little kid, I tried to make a bike out of some scrap I’d found. I really wanted my own bike and I wanted it to be special, uniquely mine. Like I could fashion something of myself in something else. Kinda conceited, huh?”

“S’adorable.”

“You’re so indulgent.” Tangle nestles in closer to Whisper, the gesture burdened with stress, anxiety, grief, fear, the fatigue of being the always cheerful, friendly, optimistic one. “Mm.”

The wolf doesn’t harry the lemur to continue this story, sensing where it may end, and it scares her, to go there. But it is left to the narrator’s choice. This impassivity isn’t mere manners, it’s not reduced to trauma alone, as there is ignorance and denial and exhaustion and a desire to be punished, even if indirectly.

“Jewel told me it was unsafe. She’s always been cautious and smart about stuff. Me, I wouldn’t have made it past my preteens without her there, always looking out for me and my clumsy, dorky, awkwardly gay ass.”

“I’m glad she took such good care of you.” Whisper allows a moment to pass before adding more quietly, “Wouldn’t have gotten to meet you, otherwise.”

Tangle is not happy, right now, even if she tries a weak smile.

“I’d have been lost, too. Without her, without you.”

“Aw, c’mon.”

“S’true.” Claws drag loving trails through striped fluff. “My hero.”

“Whisper, I… You’re…”

“Tangle.”

The lemur’s smile wavers, before she leans in a little and plants a brief, gentle, timid kiss on the wolf’s nose.

An onset of muffled, metallic thudding announces that Whisper’s tail is now wagging against floor of the vessel, riskily close to a civilian’s boot, and she doesn’t seem to realise it.

Tangle refrains from any playful teasing, instead making an effort to physically relax to stop the shivers of unease, almost lapsing into her best friend’s tested warmth and dulled strength, but the mind won’t rest. “So, um, back to the story about my death-trap of a bike.”

The wolf remains silent, breathing.

“‘Structurally unsound,’ Jewel said it was, in that sweet, tiny voice she had, back then. Using her big girl words. She was right. Hell, adult me would’ve had at least enough common sense, if I could go back to then, to be, like, dude, don’t do it, it looks super dodgy, man. But, hey. Grownup me wasn’t there, back then, and I was just a kid.”

“Bet you were the cutest kid.”

“Well, not to brag…” The lemur realises that the wolf is trying to pretend that they aren't about to reopen old wounds to bleed into fresh ones, reasserting guilt and shame, contextualising self-ridicule of one for an audience of the other, harming them both. “Anyway.” Tangle wants to punish herself with this sweet torture, keeping Whisper as an audience, being the guide to the cut that spills intestines. “Jewel was so small and her eyes were so worried.” What the lemur does not realise, is that the wolf seeks this punishment, too, to share it. Tangle might've stopped, otherwise, even if Whisper, still, would not.

The wolf brings a Wisp closer between them. She doesn’t know what it takes to be a good friend. She doesn’t know what the lemur needs.

“Dumbass me just laughed and reassured Jewel with some tough guy talk, y’know, then I hugged her because she was unconvinced and I told her not to worry, that I’d be fine, somehow, because I was a badass and I’d evade the consequences, since kids are indestructible. She begged me not to ride that bike I’d strung and stuck together with wire and tape. I rode it, anyway.”

Whisper holds Tangle’s hand, clammy and rigid with nerves.

“I haven’t forgiven myself for making her worry. For not listening.”

“You were a child.”

“I was. And the bike fell apart, anyway, because the universe doesn't care about kids, and my bike failed me on my way downhill. I was going so fast. I hit the ground as it collapsed, hard, and god. It hurt.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Got some metal lodged in my leg and little Jewel, bless her, had to haul my lanky butt up that hill. She carried me. So much smaller, not built for for it, just doing her best. I was crying so bad, not just because it hurt and the wound was scary, but because I knew, I’d screwed up in front of my best friend and she was paying for it with her sweat and my blood all over her new dress."

"Blood washes out."

"Tears, too. I couldn’t figure out how to save myself, after she tried to save me. She saved me so many times, in small ways, mostly. But those small ways amount to one big direction that goes opposite to an early grave. She pulled me back even though I was so stupid and selfish and insistent on dragging myself down for excitement, failing to see the hole I'd dug until I was old enough to understand her worries. She suffered for me, all that time. And me. What was I trying to prove, and to who, and why?”

“Tangle…”

“Whisper, I’ve tried to show Jewel that her words do matter to me, that I'm sorry for being such a reckless, fun-loving jackass, but even now, I cringe when I remember how it felt. Not the leg. But the not-listening part. That’s only hurt worse with age. The older you get, the more mistakes you'll end up repeating.”

The wolf rests her head against the lemur’s, their shoulders pressed in this lack of space.

“Ended up in hospital for a bit. She came to visit me every day, after school, and helped me catch up on homework. Snuck in chocolates. Always smiled. Didn’t chide me or tease me. No ‘I told you so,’ not even once. And she gave me lots of hugs. You know me, I’m a sucker for hugs.”

Whisper giggles faintly.

“Jewel made me feel like, even though I was a dumbass kid who was not indestructible, after all, it didn’t make her love me any less. I still had her in my corner, wiping the tears from my eyes and telling me to stop being so hard on myself, because everybody’s dumb, sometimes, and even if we’re not indestructible, that made me feel the next best thing.” Tangle’s tail is coiled about her loved ones, keeping them closely knit, together. "But all that love didn't make me any less cruel to her."

The wolf doesn’t mind it when the lemur turns to nuzzle at her cheek, coaxing a delicate, affectionate sigh in return.

“She’s been there for me, since the beginning.”

Whisper feels a calloused fingertip wander over her lips, to alight upon a fang, at risk of being pierced by the sharp point, or sliced along the brutal curve of nature. Yet prey is unafraid of the predator’s weaponry, knowing enough of the heart beneath.

“And I left her, alone.”

“Not your fault.” The wolf must protest, now, but in a way that won't stop what's going to happen. “You couldn’t have known Eggman–”

“Doesn’t matter, darling.”

“But–”

“But nothing.”

Blue shards and heavy lashes.

“I left a friend behind." Amethysts, set so dark beneath broken brows, yet glimmering. "And that’s unforgivable. But I can only be in one place at a time, so if I'd stayed for her, then I'd have left you.”

Whisper had been desiring this pain, as Tangle’s finger falls over those lips, effectively sealing them. The wolf has never felt so weak, so mute, before, taking this punishment with dignity spoiled by a wagging tail that's gone forgotten.

“Jewel’s clever and kind, but she’s harmless, because she wouldn’t throw a punch that could hurt, not even in self-defence. She uses reason and logic and warily appeals to the goodness in someone.” The lemur apologises with another soft, fleeting kiss to the wolf's nose, then withdraws slowly. “And you can tell me I helped save lives. But do you wanna hear something totally unheroic?”

Whisper merely threads their fingers more tightly as Tangle shudders emotionally, tears hot as they spill from cold eyes.

“I can't be in two places at once. But if that one light goes out... If her light goes out, or yours, or hellfire, if I lose you, both, then...”

Amy stands tall and strong, exhaustion set in her green eyes and reassuring smile, anyway, as a child stays close to her legs, clinging beneath her soothing palm.

“It almost won’t matter, how many people I help save. I can't help everyone. But you're not just anyone.”

Cream’s eyes are dead.

“What’s food, or water, or anything?”

Espio stares at the blade in his hand.

“That’s how selfish my love is.”

Sonic’s eyes flutter shut, sleep beckoning like a siren to his poisoned muscles and bones, so tired.

“I love her that much and I love you. But I'm not as badass as I wish I was. I'm dumber than I thought.”

Tails argues with his intelligence, feeling useless, again, despite it.

The wolf’s throat has grown tight and it’s hard to breathe quietly.

“What if we’re too late?” The lemur sniffles, struggling to keep her voice down, to maintain composure for the sake of the others. “I’m so scared. Jewel, she could’ve turned, by now, or could be turning, and maybe she’s hurt. She sounded so scared on the comm. And I know Jewel. She’ll be so worried about me, too. When she's found a hiding place, that’s all she’ll think about. Am I okay? Does my stupid, selfish self need her to save me? Pick me up, dry my eyes, pull that metal from my leg, but she can’t do anything like that, because I’m here and she’s there and this damn tin can can’t fly fast enough and I'm so scared, because what if I can't protect her, this time?”

Whisper’s blue eyes sadly befall the worry of her Wisps, their embraces far from enough.

“I get it.”

She wishes she could tell comforting lies, promising that the beetle is quite fine, but that's not the point.

“It’s my fault," Tangle murmurs. "But it’s not because I meant it. You could say I did nothing wrong. Didn't mean to do anything wrong, at least.”

But the throat is so tight and the tongue so unaccustomed to words, and this is not the point.

“People needed help. I just wanted to help. I didn't want fame or to make money off of being a hero. And I wanted to see you, again. But part of me screams in my head, now, that while I was running around being some hotshot, before I got that call, I was stupid, I was wrong, and none of that heroic crap matters to me because it’s too close to feeling utterly empty when I failed someone I love so much.”

The wolf aches below her throat, too, in the pit of her chest.

“You and the others could’ve handled things fine without me. Wanted to help, but… I should’ve stayed in Spiral Hill. I should’ve stayed with Jewel. I could’ve at least protected her. I’m all she’s got and I’m gone. So, I get it, now. I think I do. I'm bigger and older and I'm still on that death-trap of a bike. I ride it to wherever I think I’ll be needed. I just want to be needed. But I overlooked Jewel.”

Tasteless bread. Lukewarm water. Thoughts.


	5. She was

“Did I wake you?”

“Yes,” is the playfully gruff reply. “You did.”

“Oh, no.”

“And I’m hungry.”

“Breakfast in bed, mm?”

“Actually…”

That smile only deepens as a clawed thumb carefully traces its edge.

“You look tasty.”

“Hell, yes.”

“C’mere.”

One woman throws herself over the other, initiating an embrace.

The sunlight is soft.

Their giggling intermingles, toxic, until voices cannot be told apart.

This room is safe.

Skin seems to melt together, until they become one.

Their world is sweet.

“Start here.”

Fangs harmlessly nibble at a caressing palm.

“Eat this, first. This part of me. Then the rest. Go slowly.”

Fangs traverse delicately over the vulnerable inner wrist.

“Keep going, darling. Until it’s all gone.”

Whisper feels it all over. Falling in love with Tangle was the sweetest impact, the thing that broke the wolf. All over again, like it’s their first time, tongue lapping at the lemur’s fur, muscles trembling against teeth.

“Kiss me.”

“Where?” is barely spoken aloud, in-between.

“Here. Hurry.”

The wolf eases the lemur beneath.

“You’re so hungry for me, aren’t you?”

Whisper hesitates, hovering over Tangle, their faces close, watching those features fade away.

The sparse mattress. It's wet. Slobber. Arousal.

Tears.

This is life. This is wakefulness.

It is at this point that the wolf has made her decision.

The lemur would understand. At the very least, she’d try.

* * *

“How long will you…?”

Whisper is stoic, Wispon slung over her shoulder in an unsettlingly casual way, Wisps hovering about her.

Amy doesn’t say the rest, but nods her consent, green eyes asking that the wolf be careful.

“Thank you.”

The hedgehog returns to her work, still so tired and sorry.

* * *

“Hello, Miss Whisper.”

A sharp intake of breath, then a levelled exhale. “H’lo, Cream.”

The rabbit stands in the sun. Fully grown, she’s become intimidatingly docile, having inherited her mother’s height and gentle, motherly movements, except for those dead eyes, warm and calm, like the earth, filled with such weariness, like the war-torn earth.

She makes the wolf uncomfortable. She makes everyone uncomfortable. But especially the former mercenary, with memories of the girl who stood fearlessly in her crosshair.

There’s an empty quality to the rabbit’s smile, something cynical to her manners as she bows her head respectfully and curtseys. She is generally content with being alone, but she is not unfriendly.

Whisper hurries past, sliding the mask over her grimace.

“Where are you going?” Cream asks gently, yet arrestingly.

The wolf draws to another stop, then stares at the ground through an icy lens, silent.

“Oh.” The rabbit rises to her full height, stroking her floral dress. “I see.”

“I need this.”

“I understand. I’ve considered going back, too. Just… to see them.”

“Wise not to.”

“Still. I think…”

Whisper’s heart aches, always. But for Cream, once a girl who was ruined by losses, wounds which scarred crudely as she grew, it aches so terribly.

“If I may, I’d like to accompany–”

“No.”

“Please.”

“S’foolish. I’m foolish."

“It’s reckless. But I don’t consider you a fool.”

“I am. Not you. Stay.”

“Don’t I deserve closure, too?”

“Closure,” is repeated softly, like it’s a foreign word. “Cream, you’re better than me.”

“I denied you Eggman.”

“S’okay.”

“And I… I know it hurt you. And I’m sure it still does.”

“You did the right thing.”

“I’m not wholly sorry for that. But I’m sorry for the hurt. So much of it. I denied you. I know the pain, too.”

“Cream…”

“Miss Whisper.” The rabbit slowly approaches the wolf, who doesn’t move away, only flinching when a hand lightly touches the cheek of the mask. “I want to go with you.”

“You should stay. With Amy.”

“Please, reconsider.”

“S’dangerous.”

“Yes.”

“Might not come back.”

“I understand.”

“Might… not want to come back. But…” The masked face turns away, leaving the hand suspended alongside it. “I never… I don’t intend to–”

“To take me to see my mother.” Balling into a fist, Cream drops her arm to her side and sighs. “I know. We’d part ways, eventually.”

“Then…” The lens is cracked. “Why?”

“Because, for a while, we’d travel together. Even if I can’t fly, anymore, I have my uses.”

“Of course you do.”

“We’d be safer, each of us, together. And even if it’s only part of the journey, it’s so much less scary than facing that walk on my own.”

“Cream…”

“Aren’t you scared, too, Miss Whisper?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll find her, myself. I just didn’t want… I don’t want to have to make the whole journey, alone.”

“Even if you’re like me.”

“We still get lonely, you and I, people like us. Miss Whisper.”

“Cream,” the wolf says, voice distorted by the mask.

The rabbit waits for the final rejection, biting her lip, dead eyes downcast.

“Get your things.”

She blinks, then looks up, meeting that lens with astonishment.

“Essentials only.”

“Oh, Miss Whisper!”

The embrace is familiar. It simply emphasises how long it’s been.

“Thank you!”

Pointed ears press flat against the skull, pained thoughts coursing through, all too fast, but there’s an anchor.

Arms have been flung about defeated shoulders. Velvety head is pressed against the cool curve of the mask. Brown eyes are now squeezed shut before the blue lens, incapable of seeing the fresh onset of tears beyond.

Whisper’s large, clawed hand barely settles on the younger woman’s back.

“Thank you,” Cream says, again, sounding broken, but almost happy, before she suddenly lets go, hurrying away. “Wait for me here, please!”

The wolf stares into some void.

* * *

“She’s like my big sister.”

Whisper respectfully nods.

“I had to say goodbye.”

She was willing to wait.

“Miss Amy…” Cream shoulders her backpack more securely, keeping in pace beside the wolf. “I wish, more than anything, that she gets her happy ending.”

The mask warily turns.

“The one she always wanted.” Tears fill the brim of dead brown eyes. “Beautiful, like the things we saw in movies, back then.”

That cold blue lens stares, rabbit reflected.

“After all she’s given away, fighting for the happiness of others…”

A large hand finds a smaller one, surprising both women.

“She deserves to finally feel happy, too.”

“Yes.”

They walk side-by-side, holding hands and avoiding the crowded places, with the expectation that they will eventually part ways.


	6. Unless

“These,” Cream says softly, dead eyes downcast and dress hiked a little, bunched in one hand so as not to be dirtied as she kneels, reaching with the other. “These are edible.”

Whisper draws to a slow stop and watches with eyes shut.

“They taste sour when eaten raw.”

“Yes.”

“Though, I suppose a survivor like you wouldn’t mind.”

“No.”

The sun keeps going, marking the moments, irretrievable.

“But we can cook them.”

“I suppose we can.”

“In a pan. Over a fire. S’easy, if… “

The sun doesn’t stop for anyone.

“If you want me to, I’ll–”

“It’s not the same.”

The wolf makes a confused little noise and the rabbit sighs fondly, but doesn’t look up.

“My apologies. That was rude.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I was just… thinking aloud, for once, about my mother.”

“Oh?”

“It’s not the same as… the way she’d prepare them.”

“Oh.”

“Rustic, though, and you’re sweet enough to suggest it. Thank you.”

Whisper bites her lip and feels her stomach clench.

“I don’t talk much about her, honestly. I don’t talk much about anything.”

“I understand.”

“Do you mind, if I talk about her, now?”

“No.”

“It’s just… Sometimes, in all the silence and denial and reinvention, it’s like she’s only alive in my head. Memory, and I do dream about her, and I embellish or alter the woman I see her as. Because she goes unspoken, mostly, I’m generally the author of my own mother. By seeing her that way, it’s me who takes the blame, when I break my heart all over again.”

“Yes.”

“What’s in here,” perhaps referring to the head or the workings of the heart, “isn’t a spoken word or a photograph or something more concrete, perceivable to others on the outside. Go ahead and describe someone you love. Nobody will have the same idea of who they are. Siblings will disagree about the nature of their mother. Amy disagrees with me.”

“Yes.”

“Even if you can still hear that voice inside yourself, see that smile behind your eyelids, it’s still somewhat unreal. And it’s not enough, which scares you, but it must satisfy you or you’ll never be happy, because you can’t change some things. They’re gone and their ghost is all you have left.”

“Yes…”

“This is the hardest part. Not losing her. It’s this.”

“Your mother… is what you make of her.”

“My mother was real, once. She’s changed, now. She’s become a monster. And she’s different, inside me. I’m usually alone. I don’t usually speak about her. So, she’s mostly mute and formless, outside of me, because few people mention her in case it upsets me. And they’re right. It does. But Amy… Amy didn’t understand it, or she didn’t want to. I’ve avoided bringing my mother to life with others to the point where it’s almost as if she never did exist, despite it all, since she’s been gone so long and the world does so little to mention her existence for the sake of me. At least, I might’ve moved on, somehow, in some crude, awful way, if… I didn’t see her. In my dreams. In my memories. In my damn reflection. And Amy sees her, too.”

“You do look like her.”

“Amy always told me so. And she’d always cry. I hate it. I hate making her cry. Better to stay away.”

“Then… why?”

“Why what? Why mention my mother, to you?”

The sun cannot be stopped.

“Isn’t it obvious, Miss Whisper?”

“We’re alike.”

“You’d be forgiven for thinking I’m insane or callous or arrogant, seeking kinship with you after all we’ve done to avoid it. But I told you. I’d decided that this was inevitable before, but I didn’t want to make this journey all alone, all the way.”

“I want to stop hurting.”

“With Eggman dead, I’m hopeful we might. Since we’ve already expired in spirit, I figure you’re the only one I can talk to. Even women like us need to talk. You can use me, Miss Whisper, if you want to. I don’t mind it. Can I use you? For a little while, I can tell you about mama, you can tell me about Tangle, and neither of us will be alone with ourselves. For a little while, neither of us will be alone with them.”

“I see.”

“They’ll be in both our heads, then, for that little while. Like a goodbye.”

Tangle’s forehead tastes like salt.

“I get the feeling, sometimes, that I’m unsettling enough to be the monster others are hiding from. Because I want to escape myself, escape my love.”

Tangle’s forehead tasted like salt.

“The monster of memory. Dreams, devouring. Missing people brought back as ghosts that will never fill their place, will never be enough for us, the living left behind, because up to some extent, it’s fiction.”

“We’re going. Might as well let go, too.”

“Together. Might be cathartic, as well as less scary, don’t you think?”

“What can be scarier than this?”

“Scarier than facing our demons, on our own? Nothing. They know us best.”

“Maybe.”

Silence.

“Cream. You’re very strange.”

“Yes. I’m sorry, Miss Whisper, I haven’t ever had a therapist.”

“I’m sorry, too.”

Silence.

“Tell me.”

“If you’re sure it’s okay for me to do so.”

“About your mother. About the berries. I wanna know.”

“Okay.” The rabbit’s voice breaks. “Thank you. God, thank you.”

“S’okay.”

“My mother is a person who really did exist. And she loved me. And I do miss her, even if part of me hates to think about her, because it hurts, because she’s not real, not in here.”

“That’s… awful…”

“I don’t want to hurt anymore. Like you said. I want her gone. I want to be with her, too. I have to go, to go to her, in order to be gone. And I guess that’s okay. I’ll get my wish. I’ll find mama. Let her take me.”

The wolf moves to kneel, too, alongside.

Tangle smiles warmly.

Falling upon both knees with a grunt.

Tangle used to smile, warmly.

“My mother taught me which berries were good for eating, and which were poisonous.”

The mask is set aside, staring through a cracked blue lens.

Cream’s head finds Whisper’s shoulder.

“S’good to know.”

“Yes. She was a pragmatic woman.”

They had stopped to rest a while, taking the opportunity to forage, when this happened. Now, it’s happening. It will continue to happen until it stops happening and then they will be left unsure, yet certain. And the sun isn’t waiting. They may still be here when it’s dark.

“My mother loved to bake.”

The wolf reaches, too, touching the same stem, laden with berries.

“You’ve had a sample of what she could do. Even at the end of the world. They were cookies. Shaped like Sonic’s head, in profile. Remember?”

“Yes.”

“Did you like them?”

“I did.”

“I’ve tried that recipe, since.” The rabbit gives a berry a slight squeeze, popping it, staining her glove. “I’ve given up, since.”

“Why?”

“Couldn’t do it right.”

“You can, with practice.”

“Do you know how hard that would be?”

“You can still go back. Try to live, like this.”

“What for? To better myself. To honour her. It’s what my mother would want, what Tangle would want. But will you turn back?”

“She’s not over there.”

“And the Tangle inside isn’t enough for you. Didn’t we come here, to ultimately stop trying?”

The wolf watches the rabbit’s stained fingertips.

“Every breath is an insult. Another empty morning without her smile. Nights I can’t spend falling asleep to her lullabies, because I can’t remember the words. She’s not here to remind me. She can’t answer my difficult questions or stroke my ears or give me motherly wisdom. She didn’t get to give me away to a husband and I couldn’t give myself away if I tried. I’m alone because I don’t want anyone else. I just want mama. Amy wants mama. I can’t take it, anymore.”

Whisper’s shoulder aches under the weight of Cream’s heavy head.

“Whenever I saw her in myself, in the mirror, in our likeness… I’d hold my breath only to wake up again, breathing just fine, because I passed out, since dying isn’t so easy. Amy couldn’t help but remind me, whenever she accidentally said her name. ‘Vanilla.’ She’d say it like I wasn’t there, because I look just like my mother. ‘Vanilla, sweetie, could you pass me the – shit, Cream, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–’ Then I’d leave and I’d tell myself to be brave. Amy stopped chasing after me, eventually. Felt I needed more space. I found I liked the space better than the smothering love she generously gave. I’m awful. I left her one last time. I won’t do that to her, again.”

Silence.

“I only hope that Amy gets her happy ending, someday, and that the Cream she envision in her head, or dreams about, or still loves, is better than the real me, out here. My big sister.”

The wolf unthinkingly loops her arm around the rabbit’s shoulders.

“Yes. My mother was kind of like her mother, too. The resemblance… I’m not my mother. I just look so much like her and Amy loved her, the same as I did. My mother loved to create sweet things, even with these sour berries, but I quit baking long before Amy. Amy still bakes. Barely gets the time, since she’s always running everything.” Cream grits her teeth, trembling. “My mother was kind to me. Kind to Amy. Momma loved us. She loved people. Sweet and sour people. She would’ve loved Eggman. But I wanted to be alone. They couldn’t face me and not see Vanilla, all she was, the lost cause she left behind. I’m so broken. I can’t face myself and not see her disappointed expression in mine.”

Whisper turns her head, as if to admire the berries, everything they represent.

“I’m so alone and angry all the time.”

A gentle squeeze makes Cream sniffle.

“I miss you, mama. I wish you… weren’t different. I wish I was that… hopeful, brave little girl you raised.”

The wolf looks up, now, at one of her Wisps, hovering worriedly.

The rabbit has begun to weep into long, silky hair.

“There, there.”

The Wisps all draw in, combining their weight into a singular blanketing embrace about the shoulders of both women.

* * *

“I don’t really wanna find her. I lie, sometimes, to cope. I say I do but I don't, but I do. I guess I don’t know what else to do. I can’t linger. That’s all I know. I can’t be with Amy and I can’t tolerate the saneness of being on my own, not forever."

Whisper has prepared a fire.

“I left Amy.” Cream gathered the berries. “She blames herself.” The berries are burning. “She always does. I feel so guilty but what choice is there? If I don't know my choices, then how can I choose? I do know them. But they're all too awful. I'm too awful. Doesn't that sort of negate the choice at all, or the purpose in choosing anything? And I cannot stop talking about it to you. Years of saying so little. Coming out all at once, in a few hours. For nothing but comfort.”

“Transitory, illusory.”

“Yes, yes.”

They sit together, two animals bracing for the end of their lives like the burrow is about to collapse, leaving them exposed and crushed and pierced and eaten.

“My mother used to walk with me and she’d hold my hand most of the way. We’d pick the berries. Amy would sometimes come, too, and act like she’d always been there, always belonged. We’d carry the berries in baskets. I didn’t realise, then, the full significance of it. How Amy had gotten used to not having a mother of her own, until mine welcomed her, giving that taste of a family.”

A scream, silent, bottled up and buried inside, jailed behind teeth.

“We’d carry them home in little baskets. The berries. I’d inevitably get some of the juice on my dress and my mother could never prevent it. Amy would carry me on her back, if I told her I was tired, and I’d feel so tall. She would tell mama about Sonic. Then later, Blaze. Frustration. Anger. Understanding. Compassion. Motherly advice made it all seem tolerable, manageable. Amy was in love all the time I’ve known her. Sonic. Blaze. There was a lot I didn’t understand. We’d work in the kitchen with the radio on. We’d bake pies. Mama taught us how. The berries were so sour when raw, but those pies were the sweetest in the world. Mama said it was a secret, how she did it, how they came out so sweet. A secret she told Amy, which Amy later told me. It was all sugar. That was so obvious. Nothing magically motherly. Pissed me off, a fair bit.”

Whisper allows Cream to nestle deeper into her side, but the wolf wants to claw her way out of here, to escape this hell and find a place where innocent little girls don’t grow up to be ruined orphans, and the love of one’s life is never ripped away.

“I’m just not as good as my mother. I don’t think I’ll have enough time to come close to accepting that.” The rabbit stares at the stains on her gloved hands. “She was so kind and loving to everyone.” The stains on her dress, bruising the flowers. “It didn’t save her. They didn’t stop. The people she helped reassure and feed didn’t recognise her. I don’t blame them. They were sick. Amy takes care of the rest. Amy, big sister. The better of two daughters.”

“Maybe these berries will be sweet, too. If there’s no magic.”

A faint giggle. “Is that meant to be reassuring?”

“Sorry.”

“No, no, I’m at peace with this, mostly, I just sound insane, not really, but still, it's the pain. I have no intention to ever go back…” Dead eyes flutter shut, remorseful. “I’ve taken everything she had left. My Amy. I hope she'll be happy. I hope she'll be okay.”

“Mmph.”

“I pushed her away, when she just wanted to be my big sister and to mourn the loss of our mother, without having to face that journey alone. And I left her, for what? For myself. Not really for you, though this may be of mutual benefit. I did it for me, though. I’m not even sure, how to reconcile myself with the little girl I remember myself as. Who I imagine I was. Though, I don’t dream about myself, as a child. Possibly for the best. Possibly too far gone.”

Pointed ears fold back, distressed at the thought of a lemur in living mercury, lurching with arms outstretched to convert, not to cradle, failing to feel that love and lust. There was love, wasn’t there? They both felt it, this lust?

“I just…”

Blue eyes fill with the fire. Maybe it was all one-sided, after all.

“I want to see her, again. Mama."

"Tangle?"

"And… I want to be with her. I want her to make my pain stop.”

The Wispon lies discarded in the grass.


	7. it's just wanderlust

“Do you believe in other worlds, or mirroring universes, perhaps even diverging timelines, Miss Whisper? Movie things, maybe. I’m open to the idea of these… alternative existences of ourselves, reflecting us, but sometimes better, sometimes worse. We could be fiction in more ways than we realise. Maybe we’re characters in a video game, a comic book series, or–”

“I’m tired, Cream.”

“Right. Sorry. I was… about to let you sleep. How selfish of me, I should be quiet, again. I assure you, I’m not usually…” Awkwardly, the following words dwindle quietly away into nothing, unto silence.

The wolf feels bad, but she always feels bad. She lovingly draws a Wisp closer to herself, kissing alien skin, then slowly rolls onto her back, giving the others free reign over the motherly generosity of her body.

The rabbit is curled up opposite, cheek pressed to the ground despite the sparse makeshift pillow, eyes dead and exploring a tiny sprouting plant before them. She continues to keep quiet, as she said she would.

Neither of them falls asleep.

* * *

“Detective?”

Blaze opens her eyes, thankful to Silver for reminding her to escape the darkness that allows her thoughts the room they need to swell within her head and truly scream. “Mm?”

“I popped by the vending machine.”

“Is it working?”

“I had to give it a bit of encouragement.”

“Well done.”

“Thanks. So, um.” He takes a bolstering breath because her stoic, articulate attractiveness is so flustering. “Got you one of those nifty coffees that come in cans.”

She is left, now, with the outer voices and movements of the greater life. Inside she hides the maddening murmurs that remind her of her fury, her failures, her losses, her loneliness, and fury competes for supremacy over the fire within her, but as she turns away from the evidence board – the accumulation of this investigation, the red web of places and newspaper clippings and portraits of dead faces as they were when captured alive, in the photographs – and meets with the curious, smitten, worried gaze of her protégé, before noting again how handsome he is in his nice suit, already rumpled and necktie askew, she realises that, in a sense, she’s very due for that vacation.

“If you, um, want it, I’ll leave it for you on your desk, Detective.”

She assesses him closely. Wants to grab that infuriatingly, adorably askew necktie and use it to pull him into herself, so that she can finally quench at least one fire that burns her alive, eats her inside.

“Detective, are you…?”

She could love him, if she could love herself. He’s intelligent and abrasive and ultimately wants justice and good tastes to prevail. She could fuck him, marry him, eventually, call her mother, have his offspring, so that he won’t end up hanging from the ceiling, like in her dream. She’s afraid of what he might do to himself, without her, without seeing her like an idol perched up on that pedestal he made.

The hedgehog awkwardly feels the cat’s hand on his, carefully extracting the can from his grasp.

“Thanks, I’ll take it, now.”

“Oh.”

* * *

“Put the gun down.”

Topaz hears these words, echoing in her head, as she pulls over onto the side of the road.

They almost fucked, for the first time.

She kills the engine, then falls back in her seat, nauseous.

And it was almost beautiful.

She still feels it, the pounding between her thighs, between her ribs. She’d wanted to for so long. She blindly gropes for it, trigger finger nuzzling the gun that’s been laid respectfully on the passenger seat for some time, now, where a beautiful, frustrating, unhappy friend once sat.

“Put the gun down.”

It’s like it goes in the movies, in music. Her life was ruined by a woman. How will she explain anything to her parents, to her country? She doesn’t know and she doesn’t intend to think of something, hands tightening her hold on the pistol.

“Put the–”

She won’t, not this time. Dishonoured in the eyes of the men she left after seeing them so discarded, like toys on the ground. Disheartened by the love that told her to leave them in the first place, abandoning everything but those religious principles that forbid it, until finally, two women – one human and the other not – came together anyway and they almost fucked. Then that love told one woman to go forward with a man, whilst telling the other woman to go back there, but Topaz chooses to stop here, instead, to face her punishment in her own way.

Rouge chose Shadow.

The hedgehog is a fitting punishment, perhaps.

The bat cannot find out how the human’s story ends. Rouge can only speak to Shadow, who probably can’t hear, whilst waiting to die in her prison of paralysed flesh and brooding young, and she can dream about Topaz before she dies, too, the way thoughts and memories and inventions of the mind will die as the brain discards them.

* * *

Knuckles leans in and kisses the facet, leaving behind a mark, imagining that the heat of the Master Emerald is an answering embrace and the solution to everything that scares him.

* * *

Whisper feels Tangle tremble again, then grow still.

The lemur’s shoulder has collapsed in the wolf’s jaws. This prey has no words and can barely breathe. She won’t escape. She doesn’t want to.

Certain that it’s all over, Whisper finally releases, lapping at the wound, then all at once, she’s dizzy from the high of their torturous sex, the taste of her lover’s blood. Her arms give out and she slides against striped, matted fur, their bodies slick, boneless.

Tangle tries to catch her in an embrace as the wolf veers sideways, but they’re both so weak. The lemur is dragged off of the couch as well, and together they fall the brief distance it takes to collapse in a heap on the carpet.

“Mmph.”

They remain sprawled and still, for a while, their limbs interwoven, heads pressed, sharing breaths.

Eventually, Tangle’s urge to ask if Whisper’s alright wins out, but she’s barely able to lift her head from that soft cascade of undone hair, after such abuse.

Blue eyes, gleaming, greet heady amethysts with tepid apologies.

Hopefully Jewel won’t come for a visit, anytime soon, though it won’t be long, now, before they’ll leave town for the wilderness, perhaps leaving the Wisps in the beetle’s care for their sake and hers, to go where no one else can judge.


	8. I couldn't possibly

The woman with a name, who consoled in a beautiful, soft-spoken stranger about living a life as a lie even after coming to the city to escape an enraged, estranged family – caught up in the swill of sin, of trying to belong when young and friendless and gay with a dead-end job – is sprawled out in sexual ecstasy on the carpet, blood pooling from her lax smile, breasts bared to claw marks and teeth.

Whisper woke up crouched over the body and the memories keep coming back, like fragments of a page torn up and taken from the wrong story. She rises slowly to her full height, not at all nauseous when she should be, until she realises the Whisper she thought she was shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t have done this.

There’s music crooning on a shitty little radio, somewhere.

She stumbles backward, seizing her mouth to keep the quiet cry in, only to choke on the taste of iron. As she peels sticky fingers away, her blue eyes rise and catch sight of herself in the mirror.

The woman’s blood has left a handprint over the wolf’s jaw. In the stale, still air of the dingy room, filled with two women and the realisation and the refusal to fully accept what is still being remembered, it’s still warm.

Blue eyes widen and they are so cold, before suddenly squeezing shut. This is her life, now. It takes some time for her breaths to slow down. This is what it means to be awake.

* * *

“Miss Whisper?”

A fist swings instinctively, but Cream is quicker than one might expect. The punch barely skims her cheek as she quickly crawls backward, dead brown eyes narrowed in a mix of alarm, concern and offence.

“What the fuck,” the wolf exclaims in her quiet way, sitting up in her threadbare sleeping bag, Wisps huddled around her, staring at the rabbit with horror and fear and sadness.

“Miss Whisper, you were dreaming, I think.”

“Oh. Oh, thank god.”

“Are you–?”

“Felt fucking real, Cream. She… I saw… God, the girl, she was… And I…”

“Calm down, Miss Whisper.”

“She was dead. I think I killed–”

“It was only a dream,” the rabbit interjects carefully, reaching out to touch a foot still caught up in the sleeping bag, as if afraid of being bitten should she reach higher.

“Don’t!”

She takes her hand back and watches the struggle ensue, expression filling with pity as the wolf fights to free herself and stands, shivering in the early morning.

“Oh, no, no, no…”

“Dear, you need to take a deep breath.”

“The blood…”

“It was a dream. A bad, bad dream. It’s over, now.”

“All over my hands n’my… face… in my mouth…”

Cream stands, too, and warily keeps her distance as Whisper paws desperately at her own muzzle, fangs flashing in-between her clawing fingers, shard of an expression of guilt.

“Why’d I… Mmmph. Dream something like that?”

“I think you’re processing a lot.”

“God, I’m… Aaah, I’m fucking crazy…”

“No, you’re not.”

“I just… I…”

The Wisps dare not come closer, instead darting away to join the rabbit, who absentmindedly opens her arms and embraces them, because they’re afraid.

“I couldn’t… I’d never…” The wolf groans, lowering her hands, and she looks at Cream wildly.

The slightly taller of the two women takes a step back.

Whisper remembers her crosshair on the man, then the rabbit.

“Please, just breathe.”

The wolf’s stare flickers between the expressions of her companions, before she slowly closes her eyes, lowers her snout to her hands, and says, “I’m scared,” under her breath.

* * *

“Here ya go.”

The plate is set before Whisper. She jerks, expecting a campsite, then remembering this is a diner and there’s no Cream, no Wisps, she’s always been alone like this, wandering, catching the attention of other lonely people.

The waitress seems amused to have startled the wolf, smirking in that way older women do. “Enjoy, pumpkin.”

“Thanks?”

“And try not to look so glum. See, it’s smiling back at you.”

Indeed, the eggs and sausages have been arranged into a smile, with baked beans for brains, evidently intended as hair, toast triangles forming ears.

“You look like you need some cheering up.”

“I do?”

“Couldn’t help but notice the moment you sat down. So quiet, too, when I took your order, like you’re afraid to speak up. Y’know?”

“I know.”

“Anyway. Got the guys to do something special. Don’t think anything of it, other than about that smile I asked for.”

“Thank you.”

“Anything for someone as pretty as you, pumpkin. See? You’re smiling, now.”

Whisper notices it just then, as well as the blush that creeps down the older woman’s neck, pooling over her breasts.

“Well, consider my day made. I’m a hero.”

“Do I know you, ma’am?”

“Not at all.”

“Oh. What a shame.”

“You charmer.” With that said, the waitress twists around and saunters away, too shapely in that uniform, too shapely for a woman her age, feeling good about herself for doing a good turn for someone else.

Whisper pulls her gaze away and stares at the booth opposite, empty, then looks down at her laden plate and ponders how it seems like she came here to meet someone even though she remembers that she’s still alone, how beauty can be such an easy manipulator for compassion and generosity, how much she’s suffered compared to how little she’s fairly earned for herself.

“Detective,” a masculine voice chastises affectionately from close by, “you really should eat something.”

“I have, Silver.”

“One slice with a little butter isn’t enough to see you through.”

“I’m watching my figure,” the feminine voice, with a masculine weight to it, replies sardonically.

The wolf turns to subtly look at the hedgehog and the cat, shut eyes affording anonymity, feeling like she should know them from somewhere else, or sometime before.

“In any case, I’ve lost my appetite.”

“Yeah. That last one was a doozy. God. This piece of shit.”

“Silver, language.”

“Sorry, Detective. You’re right. It’s just… Ugh. I’m being unprofessional.”

“It’s okay. You’re still doing your job and that’s what matters.”

“The case, it… eats me up. Makes me so… angry, and–”

“Silver.”

Whisper’s hand finds a cup of coffee she’d evidently left to go lukewarm before her food arrived. Does she like coffee? She sniffs it. She’s not sure, anymore.

Moving with some strain, as if doing so is breaking some sort of unspoken rules, the cat tentatively places her hand on the hedgehog’s.

He smiles lopsidedly at her, his quills pale and distinct over sunny eyes, the slender man donning a suit far too smothering for the weather.

“I know.”

“You always do, Detective.”


	9. If only

“About what you said, before.”

“I’m sorry.” Cream reaches and finds Whisper’s wrist, lightly grasping onto it. “I really shouldn’t have said anything. I should’ve stayed quiet.”

“S’okay.”

“It’s really not, though, is it?”

“No.”

“See, I’ve distressed you. Far more than I ever intended. I just…”

“Tell me.”

“What more can I tell you?”

“Just one more thing.” The wolf sneers along the length of her snout, an expression of animalistic pain, filled with fangs and a soft-spoken voice that conceals so much of the constant inner screaming. “D’you think, in some other world, or time, or reality…?” But not all of it, not even as she dwindles again into silence.

The rabbit’s legs are hurting from days upon days of walking, muscle memory of the back still registering the cold and hard ground because of the uncomfortable nights spent splayed under the stars, dead eyes tired from staring sleeplessly at campfires to keep the bad dreams away, but the mind is alert and waking thoughts are never quiet.

“Do you… believe?”

“In what?”

“In alternative happiness.”

“As in, alternative, happy selves?”

“Us, happy. Happy to live, to keep living, because we’re with the people we love, because they’re not gone, not there, then.”

“Will you forgive me, while you can, before you can’t?”

“Tell me. Somewhere, sometime else, we’re happy.” Blue slits swivel aside, meeting the wider, yet less idealistic brown, already getting the answer to the futile question, foregone for the other. “Aren’t we?”

Cream sighs, as she figures, again, that she doesn’t know what’s even preferable, anymore, not really. The torture is all the same, for so long. She can only console herself in her impending end, and so she walks with Whisper close alongside, Wisps hovering comforting about. What right does a woman have, to wrench such pitiful hope away, like the scrap sniffed out by the mangy, starving stray?

“Aren’t we, Cream?”

“Yes,” goes the comforting lie, “I believe we are, Whisper.”

“Thank you.”

“I believe,” the lie continues. “Our alternative selves are out there, sometime or somewhere, and we’re living happily, happy to keep living, with them, the people we love.”

“God, I miss her.”

One woman squeezes the other’s wrist.

“If we agree… If we share the same faith, then… I can’t call you, n’I can’t consider myself… insane.”

“Yes, Whisper, quite right.”

The wind in the infected trees, shimmering metallic, living mercury.

“S’very comforting, Cream.”

* * *

“G’morning, princess.”

“I love it when you call me that. Good morning, ever so beautiful.”

“Hmm.” Whisper brushes Tangle’s fringe away from her eyes, amethysts fondly fluttering, the ring glinting gold upon her finger as it passes through the dappled sun and shade. “I missed you.”

“You always say that, after a nap.”

“S’always true.”

“Cute little…"

"What? What am I, mm?"

"God, I dunno, beside heavenly!"

"Aw."

"There’s not a sweet enough word to describe you. So frustrating!”

“How ’bout cupcake?”

"Like Vanilla's cupcakes?"

"Those are pretty heavenly."

“It’ll do!”

A velvety giggle mingles with a rough sigh.

“C’mere, cupcake. Lemme kiss.”

The wolf obediently collapses when the lemur’s arms entwine about her shoulders, easily bringing the heavier woman down, drawing Whisper snugly against Tangle’s tussled body.

The embrace draws some embarrassment from the Wisps, currently peering from about the emptied picnic basket.

“I wuv you so, so, so much.”

“Gnnnph.” The wolf happily has her face peppered with the lemur’s lips.

“Too tight?” Tangle asks with a respectful pause.

“No. Never.” Whisper nuzzles for more. “Tighter.” She doesn't fear being hurt like this, anymore.

The Wisps turn tired gazes toward each other, then opt to continue their game someplace farther away, quietly departing.

“Okay, darling. I’m incorporating the ol’ tail. Like a furry, naughty snake.”

“I like that.”

The Wisps uniformly hurry.

It’s fortunate that nobody else is on this hillside.

The women taste each other again, a taste so familiar yet thrilling, then part just enough to allow for murmured words in-between.

“I’m so happy.”

“My love, you're adorable.”

“We’re here. You, wonderful you, somehow married me.”

“You’re perfect, Tangle.”

“Whisper. I’m so happy, with you.”

“Here and now. Forever. You saved me."

“I found salvation in you, too.” Calloused fingers rise from their nest to play with silky, cascading hair, still allowed this freedom from its bindings, for now, only to be tied up again when the wind picks up as it inevitably will, despite loving and playful protests to the contrary.

Gentle, not causing any pain, the wolf holds her jaws over the lemur’s shoulder, as had been forewarned.

* * *

“Maybe I’m a villain.”

“No.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Too good to be bad.”

“Even the alternative me? You don't know that version of me.”

“Any you’s too good.”

“That’s kind of you.” Cream puts a berry in her mouth, to disguise her smile with raw bitterness.

Whisper is still perusing the hand drawn map with some amusement, the faces of friends drawn over key locations within the geography, a past child’s facsimile of loved ones in crayon.

“I don’t know why I thought that would ever prove useful.”

“Not useful, not like that."

"Just something to remember them by, then.”

"Yes." 

“Something to hold onto."

"Yes." A claw traces a lovingly rendered lemur’s smile. "And that makes it very useful.”

The rabbit turns to the disarmed Wispon, as if embarrassed, and changes the topic. “Teach me to shoot?”

“Not enough time,” the wolf answers quietly, as usual.

“I needn’t master it. And I have experience. Well, some experience. Not with anything quite this advanced, of course, but Amy let me learn a little.”

“Something to do, I suppose.”

“You’ll teach me, then? If the Wisps are willing, I mean. They’re such dear little creatures.”

“Okay.”

“Thank you.”

For a while, there is silence.

“It doesn’t hurt them.”

“Of course not.” Cream reluctantly turns back to Whisper, discerning a lingering wince. “You’d never use such a thing, to cause them pain.”

The sun is low.


	10. she would

“Why you gotta be so cute all the time, huh?”

Whisper smiles, sighing through her snout as Tangle’s calloused palm drifts over her head again, slow and sensual, one woman occupying the other’s lap as waning sunlight bleeds through the shattered skyscrapers.

“I look at you and I touch you and you’re just…” The lemur’s fingers thread through the wolf’s silky, loosened hair, raking lazily between her pointed ears, scattering bad thoughts into dark recesses of near-forgetfulness. “Here, with me.”

Some other place, some other time, it’s a cat that purrs under that calloused hand, even if only in her memories, her dreams, of the woman who got away. Then, the fall.

The woman in the photograph Silver probably shouldn’t have, creased between his clenched fingers, sunny eyes glaring down upon the world from the window of the airplane with the urge to cry so close to the surface.

And Amy balks due in part to a lack of some critical understanding, for all her immense empathy, wrestling against the sheer animal instinct that grapples within Whisper’s emotions, fangs snapping at a friend’s face. Muscular force isn’t enough, this time. The hedgehog has never felt so overwhelmed.

And Rouge is eaten alive by Shadow and their offspring, thinking about Topaz in the way one thinks of a cursed treasure that should have remained buried.

Cream is the only one who isn’t in any danger, because she truly understands.

The wolf is quiet, now, and as she drags her claws over the wall and forces herself to sit up, reeling, she glances aside with piercing blue and realises that the rabbit is so small, yet so much stronger.

“Are you thirsty?”

Whisper weakly nods.

Cream finds it in herself to smile, somehow, as dead and dull as her eyes are, pools of a warm, kind soul that cannot be touched by the light, the light within snuffed out by loss. It would be like trying to fill a bottomless vessel.

“Water.” The wolf is hoarse after so much wailing, whimpering. “Please.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” The rabbit rises, too, and brushes off her dress before gently caressing some of Whisper’s hair from her fearful eyes. “Stay here and try to rest, please.”

“Okay.”

Cream’s smile is gone. She curtseys before departing.

“Thank you.”

The Wisps don’t encroach too closely, leaving their caretaker to wonder what’s left, what could possibly be the point of anything.

Somewhere, sometime else, Whisper listens to the dying rattle of a lonely and heartbroken man she made happy, sprawled in the bathtub of a tiny box of an apartment, crammed with all the other tiny boxes, rodent people victim to a woman that got in.

* * *

“You saved my life.”

The adult Cream turns to look at the aging Whisper, slightly shorter, heavier built.

“I was… unable to do it. Though I wanted to.”

“I see.”

“If you could persist, so small and strong, then I had no excuse not to try.”

“But we’re about to stop.”

“Yes.”

“Then…”

“We’ll cease.”

“That’s not what they want for us.”

“Mmhm.”

“It’s not too late to turn back, Miss Whisper,” says the rabbit, touching the wolf’s wrist very gently.

“You can’t convince me, Cream. Not anymore.”

“I suppose this is it, then.”

“Yes. We part ways, here.”

They have come to a crossroads when they draw to a gentle halt.

“I’m glad I got to know you.”

Whisper chuckles faintly, allowing Cream to lean on her shoulder, holding hands.

“I’ll miss you.”

“For a little while.”

“Still.”

“I’ll miss you, too.”

The rabbit slowly eases away from the wolf to stand on her own, wiping tears from earthy, dead eyes, dulled by grim expectation.

“I truly hope you find your mother.”

“Perhaps Cheese and Chocola, too. Maybe my whole family will still dwell in the familiar places back home. Haunting.”

“Maybe.”

Cream gives Whisper a miserable smile. “And I hope you find Tangle. If you do, won’t you tell her I say hello?”

“I will. Please, give your mother my greetings, too.”

“Of course. She… would’ve loved you.”

The wolf then hesitates a moment, before turning slowly away, hefting her mighty weapon.

“Whisper?”

“Cream, I… Here.”

“But–”

“It’ll be more useful, to you.”

The rabbit fumbles with the Wispon as it is gently passed to her.

“You know how it works. The Wisps will help. They’ll take care of you.”

“What about you?”

“I have no fight left in me,” Whisper finishes weakly, shuddering, as the Wisps draw close one last time and she lovingly caresses them. “I know where to find her.”

“These Wisps love you!”

“I discussed it with them while you were sleeping. They’ll do me this last thing. Then you’ll let them go free.”

“I… This is all so much, I…”

“Just let my little ones go, please, let them go in time. As for me, I’m almost where I need to be. I won’t need the protection.” The wolf shakily exhales. “You have a long journey ahead of you. Don’t have to face it alone. Remember?”

The rabbit chokes on her own voice, reluctantly clutching the Wispon more firmly to herself, gaze cast down.

“Thank you for being with me.”

“No, Miss Whisper.”

Blue eyes.

“Thank you.”

Tears.

“She would’ve loved you.”

“Take care of her,” says Whisper to her Wisps, who dutifully nod, and she waits for them to tear themselves away from her one by one to comfortingly surround Cream instead, holding the rabbit by her shoulders and upper arms as she struggles not to fall to her knees with the heavy Wispon clutched to her chest like a child’s toy.

“I’d like…”

The wolf slowly takes off her mask, finally exposing all of her heartache, set deeply in her face like a carving in wood, exposing those blue eyes, too.

“To set them free…”

Whisper sets it lightly on Cream’s head, tipped aside so as not to hide, then kisses the still uncovered cheek of flesh, tearstained.

“In the pretty place close to my… house…”

The wolf gently pulls the rabbit into a one-armed embrace, heads resting together again, and listens a little longer to this rambling. It’s the least she can do.

“Oh, god!” Cream shudders, cradling the Wispon like a fellow child. “There were… flowers, there… and they were beautiful!”

Whisper nods slightly, imagining such a place.

“And I made flower crowns… with Cheese, Chocola, Mama… and Amy…”

One woman slowly slides away from the other.

“We picked sour berries… for sweet pies…”

The wolf’s blue eyes follow her path, her destiny, diverging from the rabbit’s, yet very much the same.

The rambling dies upon a breath.

“I love you.”

After some silence, Cream seems to gather herself together, clearing her throat.

Whisper takes this as her cue to depart, taking a step back, then turning away completely.

“I hope the flowers will still be there.”

“I’m sure they will be.”

“I love you, too. Goodbye.”

“G’bye.”

The rabbit smiles, then, still clinging to the Wispon, her dead eyes following the wolf’s brisk exit until Whisper simply vanishes, alone, leaving Cream and the Wisps behind.

The heavy boots somehow don’t leave much of a discernible trail in the dirt, as if their wearer had never lived and breathed and thought and felt and existed, perhaps saying more for the value of a stealthy life.

* * *

“Why’d you do it?”

“I felt for them. I am them.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“They wanted to die."

"Fuck you!"

"They hurt like I do.”

Silver pulls at his tie like a man on a noose, spilling paperwork over the table like entrails, photographs of dead, lonely people spread out. And yet he understands the killer, knows exactly what she means, finding himself situated far too close to the place of lonely regret and guilt that she occupies. He only wishes the beautiful wolf could look like the monster he has imagined slaying in his fantasies. Could look less like him.

“I was the sole survivor. But it killed me, to live without them.”

Blaze’s absence is like a gaping wound. In her place, an imposter stands, far less composed, evidently wishing to get his hands on Whisper’s jaw so he can snap it.

Silver understands all too well.

Her wrists are joined by shiny metal and she thinks of the blood on her hands and the blood on everyone who left her alone. “Smithy. Slinger.”

Tangle gleams, moving like mercury, given life but no sentience, a mere shambling golem with a familiar face.

“Claire.”

Getting here was difficult, because there are so many shimmering monsters.

But this one lingers in an old museum filled with crystalline trinkets of an old friendship, pawing at the iridescent beetle encaged in a display case, slathering against the glass between them, like in recognition, but never breaking that barrier of their love.

The wolf closes the double doors behind herself with a thud of connecting wood. A cell door slides shut, too, sometime, someplace, so she can lean against iron bars and she can’t hurt anyone but herself.

The lemur turns at the noise.


End file.
